The One Who Returns: A Book of Levi Tale
by TiniestDormouse
Summary: Ever since young Levi Baskerville tried to run away and faced the consequences, he's been acting strangely. Leah, his Child of Misfortune, fears that she had made the wrong choice and confronts Glen about her son's behavior. Takes place after the flashback in "Realities" from The Book of Levi; And Other Fantastic Fairy Tales. T for mature themes.


Summary: Ever since young Levi Baskerville tried to run away and faced the consequences, he's been acting strangely. Leah, his Child of Misfortune, fears that she had made the wrong choice and confronts Glen about her son's behavior. Takes place after the flashback in "Realities" from The Book of Levi.

Rating: T for mentions of past child abuse & forced pregnancy

Characters: Leah Baskerville, Levi Baskerville, Celia Baskerville, Kahina (Glen) Baskerville

Author's Note: This is the first in a series of side tales from the Book of Levi story-verse: moments and chapters that didn't fit into the novel as a whole, but are still worth sharing. They can be read in time with the current update schedule or separately. Enjoy!

Readers can also view Leah Baskerville's memorial alcove painting on the-book-of-levi tumblr.

* * *

><p><strong>The One Who Returns: A Book of Levi Tale<strong>

Nighttime comes and she sees that monster's face. The scream comes out more like a squeak but nevertheless she bolts upright, heart racing, sweat dampening her nightshirt to her rigid spine. Leah Baskerville gasps, clutching her forearms, shivering.

Around her are the rich drapings of the canopy bed. A soft glow from the gaslamp mingles with the floating lights she sees sparking beyond the velvet.

The terror fades from her bones and suddenly, a coldness creeps into her limbs. The Tower feels hauntingly empty, despite the guards that stood watch on the ramparts, pacing along the top of the wall like militant shadows. She can hear the shuffle of their boots above.

Leah looks outside her curtained window where the warding herbs twisted in a silk satchel. She had cast a protective charm upon her bedroom to ward off the nightmares, but perhaps even her simple folk magic couldn't quell the fears tossing inside her, fierce as cresting waves in a storm.

Leah Baskerville believes herself to be a simple woman living in a complicated world. Her childhood ended at seven with her marriage; her innocence became lost a few years after as soon as her people's gods demanded her womb for their blessings. Her adopted family, the Baskerville House, had anointed her as the One Who Returns, for she escaped her bondage only to return to that forsaken country to reclaim what was hers: a son she had left behind. Yet there are other things she cannot leave behind, years later.

She pulls on her deerskin and mink fur slippers and wraps a quilted robe over her lithe frame. Tonight she won't be able to rest at all in this Tower.

Walking through her rooms, she passes the circular center of the tower that she thinks of as the playroom. There, Levi and his bond-cousin Celia slept in a trundle bed together. Often in the small hours of the night, she has passed by to hear them whispering to each other. Now the room stands dark and empty, and she feels even more alone than usual.

She wanders out in the night, passing the sentry making her rounds at the base of the Tower.

A shared nod. "I'm going to see my son."

"Would my Lady like an escort?"

"No, thank you." Security details had been put in place since her former master tried to find her and was killed by Glen in a duel. It is doubtful that any of his other kinsmen would vie to complete his mission, but Glen would take no chances after shipping his body back in pieces, as was Baskerville tradition for enemies of the House. A flat paving stone is set in the ground to mark where he died; not as a memorial, but at Leah's request, for no living plant should ever bloom where that monster expired.

She skirts far away from that planted marker as she crosses the Tower clearing. The atmosphere maintains the cloyingly humidity of late summer. Above were the mounted crossbows on the walls that surrounded the bare courtyard. There used to be trees, but Glen had the entire arboretum surrounding the Tower cleared out since the trees had been so damaged by Levi's attempted escape last month. The black outlines of the shorted stumps populate the clearing around the Tower, giving the area a feel of a newly-designated farmer's field or a pauper's graveyard. The smell of freshly-turned earth and new seedlings fill the air.

Leah's hand brushes against a sawn-off trunk, recalling how her child had angled each of the crossbows to hit precisely at a certain angle to pin down his own personal guardsmen to the trees. Only a clever mind would be possessed to think of such a plan. She'd rather think of Levi's plan as clever versus vicious; to think otherwise unnerves her.

The night forest offers sounds of comfort once she reached the treeline. Rustling leaves in the night wind; the soft hooting of an owl. Orbs of light float peacefully between the fully-leaved branches. Leah reaches out to brush her fingertips along the dipping branches as she walks the familiar path to the Baskerville castle.

Inside, she moves through the painting-lined hallways along the thick carpets until she reaches the wing where Levi resides. As soon as he contracted the Raven, his living quarters were relocated from the Tower to the castle; sometimes, this distance feels like half a world away as opposed to less than a twenty minute-walk. She gives a nod to Mr. Doug, who is standing sentry by Levi's rooms. Not that it matters anymore, since Levi's promise prevented him from leaving the estate without permission ever again. But they all say it is for Levi's protection.

"My Lady." Mr. Doug gives a bow. "What brings you here at this hour?"

"I dreamt that my son was crying," she whispers. "May I check on him?"

The Baskerville guard is sympathetic to her lie and moves aside to let her through.

The room appears awash in greys and pale gold, with one dimmed gaslamp. Tall outlines of Levi's writing desk, his bookshelves, a small legion of toy soldiers and cavalry men in the corner fill the front parlor room. Most of Levi's toys he kept in the Tower in his old nursery playroom. Leah didn't mind this at all.

In his sleeping chamber, Levi is a small form huddled on the bed. He looks to be a perfect angel as she approaches and strokes her hand alongside his cheek, still chubby with baby fat.

When Leah was younger, having a child terrified her. In her enclosed rooms, she refused to acknowledge the aching pains of her body and the swelling of her torso during her pregnancy as something human and natural. She imagined some demon growing inside of her instead, draining all of her strength and energy. She knew girls who died from complications, too young to sustain the strain, or other girls who died during childbirth, only to have their wailing children be handed off to blind companions (for pure souls meant for the gods should be seen as little as possible by tainted eyes).

On her knees before her bed, she had prayed to no one in particular for something to allow her to survive. Not that her life mattered in the end, she had been told, if she were to service herself and her offspring to the gods. Terrible visions of torrents of blood and screams plagued her waking self until Levi was born. When she held him in her arms, she felt as if this babe had plucked out her very spirit, leaving her dessicated and worn at twelve years-old.

Out of all that horror, though, Leah has learned to embrace what little splendor remains in the world. Her lovely demon child: a curse and a blessing. Her sin and salvation.

Her son's hair glows in the darkness, a wave of soft white upon the dark sheets. He slumbers, curled up on his side. A defensive position. She strokes his hair and slips under the covers.

"Mama?" He stirs, looking up at her with bleary eyes. Half-moonlight falls across the bed and they are ghosts in the dark, the two of them.

"Hello darling."

"Whatsa matter?"

"Nothing. I had a bad dream, that's all."

Levi nods, used to how he'd crawl into his mother's bed after nightmares during their days together at the Tower. Why should this be any different?

"I dreamed I was a tiger," he says. "A tiger made of fire and I burned the forest to ashes." He yawns, as if the sentence takes too much out of him.

"Maybe your tiger came to rescue me."

"Yeah." The boy gives a small sigh and throws a wayward arm across her waist. That moment of consciousness fades, as moments between sleeping and wakefulness usually do. The child likes to prattle and probably won't recall this conversation in the morning. How sweet. Leah cradles him against her belly and for the rest of the night, falls into a dreamless void.

* * *

><p>She and Celia are outside by the fish pond resting in the shade of a planted parasol. Leah turns the pages of her book, reading aloud to the young teenage girl beside her as she knits. Though she lacked sight, her bond-cousin and lady-in-waiting is rather independent, having trained since she was almost a babe to interact with the world in her own way by the servants of the Big House. Celia loves taking up as much space as possible, sprawling her skirts across their shared blanket.<p>

Out of the corner of her eye, Leah sees Levi make stealthy motions across the grass. He puts a finger to her lips, and Leah smiles, not breaking her reading pace, as her son sneaks in between them. He reaches out for Celia's ball of yarn and lifts it up. Taking even more exaggerated steps, he walks around the pair of them, wrapping them in string, suppressing a giggle of delight.

He makes it three times around before Celia drops a stitch, takes her cane, and playfully taps Levi across the back of his shoulders. "Gotcha!"

"Eee!" Levi drops the yarn and it tumbles down a small slope. "I got you first."

"I knew you were there." Celia reaches out, feels for the loops of yarn and pulls them over her head. "Now you better roll that up again, you scamp."

"Make me. Nah-nah." He wiggles his hips and sticks out his tongue, more for Leah's benefit since Celia won't appreciate the taunt.

"Don't you go making those ridiculous faces at me," the twelve-year old girl sniffs in mock disdain.

"Or what?"

Celia yanks the loops of string in her hand; part of the yarn is still around Leah, and she laughs as she yanked tight. Her lady-in-waiting gives a ferocious scowl and puts the cane to her middle. "Or Lady Leah gets it."

Leah puts a hand to her breast. "Oh darling, rescue me!"

"Tiger attack!" Her son shouts and leaps onto them both. The three break out into laughter and tickling as they roll onto the blanket, tangled up in string. Celia, being the taller one, manages to wrap her arms about Levi and blows a raspberry into his neck. "Tiger attack subdued!"

Leah notices that as opposed to long and loose (and also untamed, since he's not fond of brushes), his hair is a twisted knot behind his head, the length of it separated into a series of small braids which bounce along his shoulders. Much like how Glen wears her hair. Seeing this change in her son irks her.

"Levi," she says, touching the new plaits. "Who did this?"

"Glen did. She said I should look more like the Baskerville heir I am during our lessons." He straightens up. "But she spent a whole two hours putting these in. I don't know how she keeps them all the time."

Leah frowns. "She should have asked me first."

"Oh. Why?" Levi gives a double-take. "It was really boring," he adds quickly. "She made me recite all of the noble families signs and sigils as she did it and pulled like this," he demonstrates, twisting a braid around one finger, "when I got one wrong. _That _hurt."

"Is that how all your lessons go with Glen?" She crosses her arms. She taught Levi to read when he was four along with basic sums and penmanship. Never once came the thought of physical punishment for mistakes. The idea of another person laying hands on her son made red flash before her eyes. "I should speak with her about this."

"Um, it's not terrible. And I didn't get many wrong." Levi removes something from his pocket. "Look, I discovered a trick the other day I wanna show you."

She doesn't like the idea of Levi defending Glen's actions. But perhaps he didn't like seeing her upset, or maybe he was afraid of Leah confronting the Baskerville leader. In any case, before she could reply, Celia, being mindful of the whole interaction, says, "Hand it over so I can know too."

Levi puts a silver-fringed disc in her outstretched hand. "It's a hand-mirror," he explains, letting her fingers run along the edges. "I found a new experiment about light I want to show Mama. It has to do with the Abyss."

"Ah, you better describe it in detail. Though I've fared well enough never seeing a sunbeam my entire life."

Levi sticks out his tongue. "Well, you might as well help instead of complain. What you do," and he takes his smaller hands in hers, "is lower the mirror into the edge of the pond a little bit, all right? And then tilt it forward, like so..." He steers her hands with a firm sense of comfort stemming from years of living together. "Mama, open up the cover of your book where the blank pages are and hold it sliiiightly above the water in front of the mirror's reflection."

Sure enough, as soon as Leah does so, a striped beam of different hues spreads across the white page.

"See? A rainbow!"

"No, I don't," Celia says flatly.

"Fine, fine. There are seven colors, Celia. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. All of these other colors together makes up white light."

"Words, words, words. And my arms hurt hanging over this edge." She pulls the mirror out of the water and the rainbow vanishes.

"Well, let's use different things to describe them." Levi props his chin on the hands, laying flat on the ground and letting his legs swing up behind him. "This red's like... like cherry pie."

"Red is pie?"

"Not any pie. Cherry. All sweet but a little sour and tastes good with some fresh cream."

"And orange then is like an orange the fruit?' Celia smiles. "I guess I figured that."

"Well, this rainbow orange is lighter than that, so maybe rainbow orange is dried orange rind?"

"What about candied rind?" Leah suggests.

"Yeah!"

The three of them puzzle out ways to describe the colors of Levi's mirror prism to Celia. Yellow is the warmth of an early summer day, no humidity. Green is the smell of freshly-mown grass. Blue is the breeze at night. Indigo is the flinty chirp of crickets. Violet, "are my eyes," Levi pipes up. He draws Celia's hands to his face and places them over his lids. "You're touching violet!"

_He is so brilliant_, Leah thinks admiringly. Sometimes, Leah isn't sure what goes on in her child's mind, but imagines it full of clockwork like the wind-up toy animals he keeps in the playroom. Parts inside ticking and spinning at rates faster than others could ever understand.

"Inside the Abyss is full of colors," Levi says, palming the mirror. "And all of those colors are bits of white light. The book I was reading says that the reason why we see colors as they are is because each bit of that light actually moves in waves. Like the waves you can feel when I do this." He grabs Celia's hand again and they dip their fingers in the water, stirring slightly. "'Cept these waves move so fast it's like they're vibrating. Like when I play my violin and the strings hum. So when we said all those things to describe colors, we should actually think of all colors as a type of sound."

Celia removes her hand from the water's surface and wipes it on the blanket. "Sounds that you can't hear?"

"Because they move in ways our ears don't pick up, but sight does." Levi flicks the mirror back and forth, sending a beam of light hitting the surface of the pond. A small circle of light refracts upon the disturbed surface. "Different colors, maybe, show how fast a part of the Abyss is vibrating. Perhaps certain colors can be related to different states."

Leah grins. Her little boy, not even nine years old yet, and already able to observe aspects of nature and apply them in ways she marveled at. "We should investigate the colors of the Abyss sometime," she offers, playfully.

Instantaneously, Levi's curious tone drops. "Master won't allow it," he replies in a flat voice. He drops the mirror onto the grass.

"Oh?"

There is a certain blankness to his gaze. "Master will not permit us both to enter the Abyss together."

"Sweetheart, I didn't mean-"

"No." Levi shakes his head, the braids dripping on his shoulders. "It is forbidden, mother."

Mother. The word chills her.

"Levi?" Celia ventures. She reaches out while Leah had drawn back. The adolescent girl carefully brushes Levi's shoulder. The Baskerville heir starts, putting a hand to his temple.

"Uh, yeah…" he blinks. "Mama, did something frighten you?"

Her voice is quiet. "No."

As soon as the word passes the boy shakes his head. "I've got a headache. Can I go inside the playroom and take a nap?"

"Certainly, darling," she replies, warily. Levi sees her expression and grabs her hand. "Let's listen to some horsie songs," he says accommodatingly, referring to the silver toy carousel that sat in his playroom. Using a tiny key, together they could make the music play and the toy light up like magic. "Please?"

"All right." She kisses the top of his plaited crown. "You coming inside, Miss Celia?"

"I'll knit here some more," she says and Levi slips down the small embankment to retrieve her ball of yarn sitting by the water's edge.

"Sorry, want me to wind it for you?"

"No, you go on ahead." Celia is quite perceptive when Leah wants to be alone with her son. "I'll manage, but you better make up for this later."

Inside the playroom, Levi climbs onto an overstuffed couch and Leah sits beside him, brush in hand. "Come here," she says, positioning him in her lap. "You can't take a nap with these things on." Slowly, she undoes all of the braids, brushes his fine white hair smooth between his shoulder blades. _Southern hairstyles look so unbecoming on my child,_ she thinks stiffly.

The process takes a better part of the hour, but Levi remains very much alert, though mostly quiet, throughout the whole process. As she finishes the last few strokes through his cornsilk-fine locks, he ventures a quiet word. "I don't have to wear my hair up like Glen's anymore."

"Oh, you put your hair up the way you want to," Leah replies airily. "All of those ties were giving you a headache, though. It looks better now." A tight smile. "Doesn't it?"

* * *

><p>After her son settled in for his nap, Leah enters the Baskerville castle. The castle is always filled with red-cloaked guardsman on patrol; Leah has no idea why Glen keeps so much security around. Visitors to the castle - diplomats, invited guests, one or two distant relations of the King - also move past among the throng, each with a guard or two accompanying them.<p>

Her independence attracts some attention from others, but not her foreign looks. The men and women of the Baskerville House are unique in the nation for not being all connected by blood or marriage, unlike other Houses. People in varying skin tones, eye colors, and hues of hair walk side-by-side in an unusual gesture of egalitarianism that makes perfect sense. Mythologies about the Abyss spread far and wide, and though the details of each tale differ, the general idea of the existence of the Abyss remains the same. The Will of the World is the only constant across many cultures, calling outcasts with its lights to join the Baskervilles.

The head butler directs Leah to the library. Despite the warmth of the summer, the fireplace is roaring; Glen hates the cold. Stepping into the first room, Leah sees the rich displays of suits of armour and long spears and laces along the walls between the shelves of books. Glen's library gives off the air of a place rich in history and tradition, yet austere at the same time. There are many books and blades, and the floor is covered in the intricate knotwork of handmade carpets. One of two tapestries detailing desert landscapes and roaming caravans stand on the far wall in the next room over.

"Lady Leah, how pleasant to see you." Glen steps through that second room, closing a book in her hands. Leah curtsies and the older woman gestures toward a pair of overstuffed leather chairs by the bay window. "What brings you here?"

"Please let me be straightforward, Glen. I'm here to talk about your treatment of my son."

"You sound offended."

"I am. Extremely."

Glen's words are softly accented, as are Leah's. Neither of them are native speakers of this country's language, but use it as a bridge between them. Levi, Leah thinks with dry amusement, speaks as if he had been born and raised in this nation, right up to replicating that high-born tilt nobles have. He'll have no problem assimilating into the class he is destined to rule.

Leah wants to remain standing during her confrontation, but knows that Glen, unlike most nobles, will not sit until she does and doesn't want to give her the height advantage. She lowers into the hard seat and folds her hands in her lap. Glen slides in across from her, putting the book down on the small marble-topped table between them. A game is set up - cups and dice - but the arrangement is artfully made for display rather than play.

"I don't like what you did to him this morning."

Both eyebrows rise. "What did he accuse me of?"

"His hair." She makes a flippant gesture toward Glen. "It's my decision how I want my son to be presented. And, even worse, the methods you use to teach him are much too harsh for a boy like him."

"I wasn't cruel, if that is how you take it." Glen tilts her head, her lips forming a flat line. "It was simple discipline during recitation and nothing more."

"I'd never do such a thing. Levi is..." Leah hesitates at the word, but plows forward. "Levi is a sensitive boy. He should not absorb casual violence as part of his education."

"Levi is eight years old, almost nine. And he's not as gentle as you claim," the duchess says. Her voice is deep and rolling throughout this conversation, but bit by bit, Leah senses the Baskerville leader's hackles being lifted. "Don't you recall three weeks ago he had ten of my most loyal men nailed to the trees like dead birds?" A scoff. "And you fret over simple hair tugging."

"He has a good heart. You knew why he did that."

"But the boy's not the saint you think he is either." She leans forward onto the table, steepling her fingers. "You know him too well."

Leah twists her fists into her skirts. "You better not be training him to be any worse. He's my child, not some miniature version of you to feed orders to." Her voice lowers. "You're doing something else to him, aren't you? Like when you made him swear to become the next Glen."

Glen straightens in her seat. "_I _did not do anything of the sort. _We_ had an agreement. _You_ told him what you desired and the loyalty pledge only enforced that."

"I want my son to live a good full life, not become your mindless drone!" Leah's voice echoes in the huge, empty space. She doesn't care that she is now yelling at the most powerful woman in this castle, and arguably in the nation next to the King himself.

"How dare you accuse me of abusing my powers." Glen's voice matches her own, but instead of escalating in volume, it plummets deep into a growl. "I would never do a thing to harm my heir."

"He was my son before he became your heir," she retorts. "This morning, we were talking, and this look came over his face..." Her expression falls at the recollection. Such a dead, blank mask her son wore. "...when I suggested that we explore the Abyss together."

"Oh. That? Heh!" Glen stands up, starts pacing before the window. "That was Levi recalling the proper rules of engagement with the Abyss. After his little flight, I had to set _some _ground rules for the boy before he gets further ideas." She stands before Leah, her belligerence lurking in those dark eyes. "The Abyss is my jurisdiction and will be Levi's, my Lady. You can't be as presumptuous as to believe you can instruct me how to do my duties."

"Is everything you tell Levi a command then?" She narrows her eyes in return but remains sitting, refusing to let the Baskerville noble intimidate her. "Every time he goes to your 'lessons' will another piece of instruction be branded into his soul? Is that honestly how you believe how a child should be raised?"

"No." A sigh from the other woman and she pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. "But in my experience, a child does not have one or two parents, but the whole clan to raise them well. You are not the only authority in his life, my Lady."

"But your power does not overrule mine. I'm his mother."

"Motherhood is not a birthright, Leah; it is an accepted responsibility." An arched eyebrow. "When you first arrived at this kingdom, you never mentioned a son."

Silence falls between them. The terrible truth Leah thought she had lain to rest rises up inside her, as a horrible, undead thing.

"I... I know." Leah screws her eyes shut and cups her face in both hands. She had wanted to be free of everything. Twelve years old, forced to bear a child, too frightened to even allow herself to love him. Everyone had told her he was bound for the gods. Her child was a gift too pure for this world. Leah had been merely a conduit for the divine. So why pin her care and affection upon something more sacred than she'd ever be?

"But we suspected you had someone in your life close to your heart. The Baskervilles needed Levi and you. Together." Glen's face holds no triumph, but retains a blunt solemness. It is obvious she does not take any pleasure in these facts. Leah wonders if Glen had harbored a level of disgust against Leah this whole time for her initial choice of abandoning her newborn son to a life of confinement and eventual death in order to save herself.

Perhaps this reversal of fortune at the Baskerville House is only Leah's penance. Maybe the blood gods of her old country had extended their cold reach across the ocean to enact their vengeance upon her.

"I didn't rescue my son merely because of some political agreement, Your Grace," she finally says.

"I understand." Glen puts a consoling hand on her wrist, but she brushes it aside and stands. Glen gives her a small bow of apology. "Forgive my uncouthness."

_I was a frightened girl who craved an escape. Now, I've become a young woman, and new fears haunt my life. _

"Never doubt my feelings." Leah gives her ruler a determined look. "As soon as my eyes fell upon Levi again, I knew I wanted him." Leah's hands twist and then ball into fists at her side. "He will always be mine, even after I'm gone from this world."

"I've realized I overstepped my boundaries. Believe me, it is my last intent to make you both unhappy. In the future, I'll be more mindful in how I instruct him." Glen guides her out of the library, her defensive shield now completely lowered and replaced with sympathy. Leah had heard the stories from the guards: she, too, had to make a great sacrifice before becoming Glen and is no stranger to sorrow. Leah lets Glen walk her out of the room and into the hallway.

"I appreciate your generosity, Your Grace."

"It is not a generous act to respect your wishes." A half-smile. "A mother's love wraps tighter than the noose."

* * *

><p><em>Snip-snip-snip.<em>

Leah's scissors glint in the lamplight. Levi squirms a bit and holds the mirror before his face. "You're getting one side crooked."

"I'll even it all out in a bit, darling. Just hold still."

That evening, it was Levi who suddenly announced he was tired of his long locks and wanted Leah to cut them short like Mr. Fang's. The head of the guard had hair in a northern style, unlike Glen's or Leah's. She thinks Levi is acting quite diplomatic but feigns innocence as she cuts off his hair.

_It'll grow back if he wants it to_, she thinks to herself as she evens out the sides. Give it a few years and it'll be as long as it had been, or even longer. Or maybe Levi will keep it short forevermore. But it'll be his decision.

"Celia will be disappointed once she feels your new look." Leah muses as she brushes bits of hair from his shoulders. "I think she rather liked using your hair as a plaything."

"She can learn how to braid other ways. Mr. Doug showed me some new nautical knots." Levi kicks his feet against the front of the chair he sits in. "You like this, though?"

"You can do anything you want to your hair, sweetheart."

"That's not how you acted this morning, though," he points out. A pause, and he hesitantly asks, "Mama, did Glen make you say those things? When I gave the promise?"

She lowers the scissors. Leah can give a lot of different answers to this question. But life had tarnished her once-delicate soul. All she wants is something uncomplicated and true. Someone who can accept her love unconditionally and whom she can always love in return. Nothing more.

Leah doesn't quite lie, but it is close enough. "No, because I know how important Glen's responsibilities are. They are destined to be yours someday." Leah kisses Levi's forehead.

Levi turns around to face her. "That's only what she thinks."

Instantly, she feels Levi's thin arms tighten about her waist, burying his sheared head against her breast. Somewhere deep within, a mainspring of anger had been wound inside him. Glen Baskerville doesn't deserve such ire, but no one can get in the way of the simple things Leah wants desperately to keep.

"I'll stop this," he whispers. "Someday, Mama, I will."

"Oh darling." She embraces the boy, props her chin on the top of his head, and lets her eyes close. That unnerving sense creeps over her again, but she forces the feeling down. Levi is her brilliant angel and nothing more. "Don't think about that promise anymore. That's far, far into the future, when you're all grown-up and I am old. We still have today and tomorrow and the next day and the next. We have everything we want now."

A good life. A good son. Simple things. That's all.


End file.
